


vying like you're on the weekend

by orphan_account



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, Making Out, Post-Canon, Second POV, iwaizumi is just. so fucking head over heels and he's weak, they literally kiss in the locker room and iwaizumi forgets how to function, this is my first haikyuu!! writing so hopefully its not too bad, uhhhhhhhh oikawa does... uh. yknow. bite hajime's neck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-20
Updated: 2017-07-20
Packaged: 2018-12-04 16:43:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11559270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Iwaizumi knows that he was always Oikawa's pillar. He is meant to be comfort, he is meant to be stability, he is meant to be the friend that sticks by his side all through time.(best friends aren't supposed to think about kissing the other, best friends aren't supposed to kiss each other)





	vying like you're on the weekend

You don't know how you're supposed to deal with him. Oikawa's attention has been on the ball, not you, for about half an hour now, the gym's air full of noises of teeth scrapping together, the sting of the setter's hand on the ball, and the sound when it touches down on the gym floor and smacks hard against it.

"C'mon, Trashykawa," you start. He doesn't even look at you.

The ball clicks against the net and sways for a moment, then bounces to the ground.

Oikawa's frozen in his serving form, and it's only another moment before he finally moves, moves from that goddamned spot to look at you. _His hands are red, the heels of his palm blotchy,_ you notice.

"We lost."

Your eyes narrow.

"We lost," Oikawa repeats, and his gaze is skimming again, dancing across the room like he's looking at some glorious painting, but you know that he's looking for a ball. This is how Oikawa copes. "We lost!"

You can't even respond to that, instead you press your lips together and stare at the ground.

"Yeah. Are you just going to throw a tantrum, or what?" is what you say at last, eyebrows drawn together as you finally finish shrugging on a jacket. The jacket is a dark blue, in comparison to the Seijoh's jacket, and you leave the front open.

Oikawa doesn't respond. Pulling yourself off the bench, you walk over to him, then swat the ball from his hands. It goes rolling across the floor, and the gym is completely silent.

You stare at his hands, one heel spotted red and white, the way they curl silently as if they're around a ball, then lift your own hand, digging it deep into his hair.

"Hold your stupid head up, Shittykawa, you're acting like some child. C'mon, get over it."

That was the last time you would play with Oikawa.

You try not to pay attention to the way his hand feels in your hands, try not to pay attention to your stupid goddamn school girl (guy) crush, and instead yank.

Oikawa doesn't even whine.

With another sharp, harsh, and pointed yank of his hair you get a low sound from him that sounds more irritated then anything- was this stupid Karasuno match really making him like this?

Yes, it is. You know that just as much as anyone else did, the sting of your hands from spiking repeatedly proved that. The spiking, the serving, the irritation you bit back like they were words.

"So mean, Iwa-chan," he says at last, then removes your hand from his head, frowning a little as he patted at his hair. Now, the darkness of his brown eyes doesn't seem as evident- they seem lighter somehow, rings of hazel and amber and this gorgeous (goddammit) shade of brown that reminds you of soil and dust and rocks surrounded by the sunrise.

"C'mon. Just get yourself changed, dumbass."

He shrugs, then picks up another ball, and you just about hold back the urge to smack it off his hands and clean into his face, but Oikawa's eyes have darkened again, laced with regret and for a moment, for a moment, you feel cold coiling around your neck but you shake it off.

"I'm the ace, you idiot, so why are you feeling sorry for yourself? Stop acting like it's all your fault!"

As you pass him, you swat Oikawa on the shoulder, fingers digging deep into his shirt. You let it linger there for a moment, then send him a dark look that conveys your next words, then disappear into the locker room.

The Seijoh jacket is there.

You pry through the lockers until you find your bag.

"How can I be the ace when I couldn't even make that...?"

There's a click of a locker being shut, so you assume Oikawa's there. Without another word, you shut up, and quickly move to the door of the locker room, bag slung over your shoulder and hands in your pockets.

You don't think about Oikawa, no, you don't think about him, his body, his hair, his eyes, his voice, his personality, the way he says your nickname, and no, you definitely _don't_ think about the fact that you can see the muscles working in his back as he sheds the gym shirt and pulls on another.

Yeah. You're totally not focusing on him. You avert your gaze and cross your arms across your chest as you wait for him.

"Uwah, Iwa-chan..." there's a sudden whimper. "I got stuck in my shirt...! It hurts, Iwa-chan..."

The atmostphere around him is light, shimmering with childness, and if you had seen Oikawa in the gym with shadows dancing across and under his eyes and across his skin like bruises, you would have never guessed it's the same person.

"Moron," you say. As you move around a corner where Oikawa is struggling to get himself through his shirt, limbs flying around and flailing, and he's wearing a tanktop and crap, crap, _crap_ , you're getting a lot more distracted by the muscles on his back, the ones that line his arms.

You remember when you were taller then Oikawa, before puberty, but through the years, towards the end of junior high and the beginning of high school, Oikawa started to stretch, limbs lanky and his skin pretty and untouched by acne (you also remember when you hid in your room from the relatives gushing about how tall and handsome you're getting, Oikawa flourished in the attention at the Christmas reunion).

As you pick at the shirt, helping him by yanking his elbow out of the sleeve, Oikawa is finally able to pull his head through the shirt.

"You must really love me, Iwa-chan, if you're helping me with that~"

"It's gonna be the last thing you do if you keep talking!"

With that, you aim a sharp jab towards his stomach, and Oikawa catches it. His fingers leave a burning feeling against your skin, energy sharp and boiling and intense.

You're expecting a teasing reply, but the former captain just falls into silence, and he smooths out his shirt again, and you can tell that he (both of you) is thinking about the loss, the game, the reality hanging around them, Karasuno, the failure.

"We lost."

"I know."

"We lost," Oikawa says again, and for a moment, fury burns in his eyes (you feel bad for the setter on that other team you can't remember- what's his name? Akaashi? The one with the ace that has massive mood swings?) and his brown eyes aren't the simple, doe-like brown, they're the color of dirt-smeared bricks in the light of the fire, passionate.

You know that he's thinking about Karasuno, about Kageyama, who oozes natural talent, so you take a risk.

You take a risk, a risk you've never done before, a risk you wouldn't have done elsewhere because you can hardly look at him without your eyes going to his hair or his lips or his eyes- his eyes, intense and wide and reflective and gorgeous (god, saying that makes you sound like a sap) and determined.

You take his face in your hands, the hands that are rough and calloused and that have touched too many volleyballs too many times, and run your fingers across his cheeks.

"Calm the fuck down," is all that rings throughout the locker room.

Oikawa's taller then you, you know that, but the way his gaze darts away from your face. It's not the tough, captain-like, pressed and practiced look that he had on the game, it's the face you wear when the crushing reality presses down harder and harder on your shoulders and tries to tear through the muscle, skin, and bone like it is paper.

It's the face of someone ashamed. His eyes glitter.

"Come on," you ease your fingers across his cheeks, and Oikawa blinks again. For a moment, you see the boy that wore an alien t-shirt every day of the week, the boy with chubby cheeks and a nose that wrinkled instead of the former captain of Seijoh.

You see Tooru, not Oikawa.

"I know we lost. Are you just going to practice relentlessly until your body freaking- oh, I don't know, collaspes, like it did after Inter-High? I had to carry you off the gym floor because you passed out."

Oikawa seems to break a little. You remember the tears on your own face when the game ended, when your shoulders shuddered and your lips trembled, and suddenly there's the gleam of something clear like glass on his cheek, then it melts into the skin, and when your thumb grazes over cool and wet skin.

With that, he leans forward and rests his forehead on yours. His forehead is warm, and you can feel the slight touch of sweat, and for a moment, you breathe in, breathe in the stupid and cheap smell that always lingers around him, tinged with sweat. He smells like he always had, from the very beginning to now.

His own breath billows across your cheeks, and holy crap, it takes almost everything not to lean in and his lips are distracting you again. Warm air fans out against your cheeks, and his eyes are closed, yours wide-open, and something beats hard and heavy against your chest, your rib-cage. 

"It'll never be enough."

You blink. The words whip hard against your back and shoulders, and you think about rebuking him, spitting out words, but Oikawa continues,

"It's never been enough, after all. Never. Never, never, never, I'm never the best setter, I'm never the perfect setter, never the perfect serve, and it'll never be enough to catch up."

"Oi. Shut up," you hiss.

Oikawa's shoulders shudder. He's on the verge of breaking. Rather awkwardly, you move your arms, letting them ghost over his arms then loop around him, pulling him closer and to the point where Oikawa hunches over, head buried into the curve of your neck and you feel something cool against the skin.

He shudders again. He's breaking now, the polished and refined image that he puts up during school starting to melt away and mix together into a mess.

Your fingers run along his broad shoulders, and the two of you stay like that for minutes, Oikawa pressing his face into your neck and you in a half-hug.

That's how it's always been, after all. You and him, him and you, Oikawa and Iwaizumi, Iwaizumi and Oikawa. Him crying into your shirt, sharp words and heavy insults, volleyball and sweat, and the two of you.

"It's over, Oikawa. You're not the only one that lost. We all lost."

"I'm a horrible setter. Everyone's going to leave me in the dust."

You resist the urge to hit him clean in the back, and instead settle for ripping him away from you. Perhaps the action is too harsh, too jerky, but it peels Oikawa away from you and you can see him, eyes painted red around the rims and lips pressed together.

"Don't talk bad about yourself. I swear to god, I'm going to hit you. Don't compare yourself to others- ever. I'm gonna kick your ass if you do. You're not just any setter, you're Seijoh's setter, my setter- and if you're gonna try and like, I dunno, degrade yourself, I'm gonna smack you into next week."

Oikawa sniffs once and runs his hand across his red nose, mouth screwing up and yeah, he's just as an ugly as a crier as he was when he was young.

"You're such a brute!"

"Whatever," you huff.

There's a pregnant pause, and Oikawa runs a hand down his face quietly, avoiding your gaze, but you stare at his face, at him, at Oikawa.

It takes a lot not to pull him close and kiss him there, fingers knotted tight in his shirt and in his hair and heavy breaths, gasping and warmth fizzing in your chest and-

_Shit._

You almost flinch, something warm beginning to come to life at the tips of your ears and take a step back, startling yoursel with the own fantasy that had flickered through your mind.

Best friends... they aren't like that. The two of you aren't like that. Best friends don't do that. People don't think about kissing their best friend, they don't think about their lips and how it would be like to kiss them, or how it would be like to dig your hands deep into their hair and push them again a wall.

_No, no, no, Hajime, stop that._

Oikawa notices, though.

"What's this?" He clears his throat, voice foggy with snot. "Was Iwa-chan staring at my pretty, pretty face?"

"I... uh," you stumble over and over for words, shifting your gaze so that it's locked on the walls, not him. "I. Uh. Your face? I face wasn't..."

Oikawa stares at you for a moment, and burst out in soft, easy chuckles despite crying merely moments ago, a laugh that coils warm and heavy in your chest.

"... maybe," you finally admit. "But like- it's... maybe I was looking at your face, but I wasn't staring, I'm just- goddammit."

Something shifts in Oikawa's eyes. Fuckin' hell- this guy is so damn difficult to read, like he's throwing off and tossing on masks every few seconds. He had been crying previously, then laughing, and now his eyes are calculating.

I fucked up, if all you think.

"I. Uh."

There's that stupid, flashy smirk and Oikawa leans in and kisses you.

Everything stops.

It's not like a sudden firework that explodes at the back of your head, there's no spark, rather a lazy, warm hum that makes you almost dizzy and weak at the knees.

Yeah, it's pretty cliche and you never thought you would be kissing Oikawa out of all people. Besides, you're Iwaizumi, the guy Oikawa calls a brute, and he's kissing you, chaste and you don't know what the hell you're doing.

Something seems off, and you realize it's the weakness that sparks suddenly at the back of your heart, and you're gripping at his shirt like it's the last thing in the world, as if you will fall if you let go (you probably would).

Oikawa seems dissatsified by the lack of response you give him, and just as you can feel him about to pull away, you open up.

 _Holy shit, I'm kissing him_ , is all you can think before your fingers knot deeply into his hair and yanks him closer, and all you can hear before you impatiently crush your lips to his is a 'oh-'

Maybe it isn't the best idea to do this in a locker-room out of all things, but the fuzz at the back of your brain is getting more and more heavy and thick as Oikawa begins to move his lips against yours and you're _dizzy_.

His hand finds its' way across your collarbone, dancing up your neck and brushes past your chin to your cheekbones, resting there and rubbing circles into your cheeks and you almost sigh.

Then his touch is gone and it winds into your hair, fingers weaving through your hair spiked with only a little bit of gel and you're out of breath and _what the hell._

It's only then when you break away, and you realize how harshly your own fingers have dug through his hair, because now some points stick out at random places. You've seen Oikawa roll out of bed without a hair out of place and now you're looking at him almost out of breath, hair messed up.

"Oh," is all you're able to manage, eyes darting away from him, pressing your lips together tightly.

Your gaze almost immediately skips around the room and avoids Oikawa, but you can't deny that there's this feeling stirring at the back of your mind and you want more, but you immediately squash it. Instead, you cross your arms across your chest in a protective stance and clear your throat.

"What... the hell?"

Oikawa presses his lips together and then smiles, but it's one of his fake smiles, the one that doesn't crumble the skin of his eyes close together and you hate it.

"You need to touch-up on your kissing, Iwa-chan," Oikawa says, humming and tapping his lip. "You can't kiss a girl without knowing your stuff! She'll be shocked and totally in love!"

No, no, no. Your best friend doesn't just kiss you and say that you need to 'touch-up' on your own kissing. First kisses are supposed to be sparks and everything, and Oikawa had just taken yours.

"Are you just passing it off as that? You just- you just fucking kissed me," you say.

He's shifting his attitude again. Now, he has his hands on his hips and you're so irritated, so irritated and pissed off, and your goddamned best friend.

(you hate the label, ignoring the fact that you instinctively want it to be so much more. The word best friend has always seemed flimsy to you, tossed around and thrown like a ball)

"You need practice," Oikawa says.

"I'll show you practice," you growl in your throat and you yank at him again and there's a voice at the back of your head that screams at you again but you're already kissing him, and hard.

_(I swear to god I'm throwing this relationship in the trash)_

Oikawa releases a grunt, bends over a little, and there's a little hum that delighted itself in the idea that Oikawa isn't pulling away and he's not pulling away, but you bark at it with the fact that he's a friend of yours and you guys have gone through worse.

In comparison to the first kiss, there's a lot more teeth this time and your noses bump and you grab at him again, fingers grabbing at anything, and everything.

There's a mutter as Oikawa deattaches the two of you and something twinges in your chest, but suddenly he's there again. His fingers adjust the angle of your face, and he tilts his as well and the third kiss is almost breathtaking.

Now there's a warmth in your chest that you haven't felt before, the type of cliche and stupid warmth they talk about in movies and books. Something unfamiliar prods against your lips just as Oikawa guides you back, back, back, and there's a wall against your back, pressed hard against your shoulders.

You release a sharp gasp when you realize it's Oikawa's tongue, and the gasp is too sharp, too sudden, too out of place, too piercing. He's pinning you against the wall now, and he licks a line across your lower lip and quietly asks for permission with another poke at your closed lips. He nudges a leg in between your thighs and you twist your fingers harder into his hair and yank, and suddenly you understand the sudden urge to get deeper into the kiss, the one that's seen in the movies, because Oikawa makes your entire body burn. 

It's not the even type of simple, laid-back warmth that had tickled up your spine and across your arms. Now that you've experienced the air after he's pulled away, cold in comparison to your mind, burning, you're almost desperate to the point where Oikawa probably wouldn't even call you Iwaizumi or Iwa-chan, but rather you press closer, and Oikawa winds his body around yours. 

Finally, you let your jaw fall down a bit and he sweeps hot and heavy into your mouth and you basically make a noise that you rather wouldn't describe, the entire world is spinning. 

His tongue slides across your teeth for a moment, testing the boundaries, and you immediately let your hands roam from where you have tangled fingers in his hair, glancing across where you could feel the muscle through his shirt and across his shoulders. 

If you had to guess, he's probably experimenting for now, because he pulls back for breath then goes again, taking your bottom lip between his and bites, nibbles and you respond with an instant bite. 

Everything is spinning again. At the beginning of the day, you wouldn't have expected to end it with literally _making out_ with your best friend in a locker room, but Oikawa isn't satisfied yet, _you're_ not satisfied yet and it doesn't matter that your first kiss was only minutes earlier.

Both of you exchange things like sucking on each other's lips, and Oikawa makes a noise that doesn't send any message aside from the fact that he liked whatever the hell you're doing, so you shift your lips to his neck and hums against it and he throws his head back and releases a sharp breath. There's a pause and you carefully move your lips down his neck, achingly slowly, like you've seen in movies.

 _"Hajime,"_ another breath and Oikawa tilts his head a little bit more to give you more access, but before you move, he changes his mind and starts planting his lips on your jaw, your neck and stops you from continuing. 

The different sensations start to blur, and he's _everywhere_ , your lips again, your neck, cheek, lips, jaw. 

"Oikawa," you almost groan. "Shit..."

He smiles against your skin, and finally pulls his burning mouth away from it. 

You're breathless. His lips are swollen, eyes screwed in a smirk, a smile. 

"Actually, I'm gonna go back and edit what I said. You're inexperienced, but you gave me a good time," he winks. 

You can probably guess that your lips are just as red and swollen as Oikawa's, if not more, and your knees are close to buckling and you're still up against the wall, ears red and face flushed. Half of the experience is muddled to you, and the other half is something that sends a zing down your spine. You remember Oikawa against your throat, smiling savage against your neck and he had bitten down, too, and holy shit, the world doesn't need two more horny teenagers. 

"The... fuck?"

**Author's Note:**

> ALSO HIIIIII THIS WAS NOT MEANT TO BE PUBLISHED ON OIKAWA'S BDAY BUT IT?? HAPPENED??? enjoy iwaizumi's ass Oikawa


End file.
